Mandarins for Christmas

Hours we drove, dodging potholes
large enough to swallow elephants
Through the high jagged-tooth Taurus mountains viciously biting
the sky
Listening to his singing, his ponders, thoughts and sometimes
his rants
Where we wanted to go, we didn't know where, and we didn't know
why

Past orchards full of glowing
bright oranges as far the eye could reach
Past lone olive trees on barren winter fields brimming with
mistletoe
Past the ancient home of the real St. Nicholas not far from a
beach
In an exotic land full of Christmas legends yet minus the
church and the snow

Down and down to a mystical town
by the sea with a mysterious name
'Kash' it said upon the map, home of the ancient Lycians from
days of old
A harbour boasting a forgotten Lycian grave in its midst with
particular fame
On the harbour isthmus a small Greek amphitheatre, or so I had
been told

At dusk
we
arrived at the harbour to catch the sun's last sliver of
redAs
the faint mists of the evening sea rolled toward the warmth of
the landThe
spell of my reverie broken by a quiet "Good Evening" that was
saidTo
turn to find a small man with charm and poise extending his
hand

He told us his name was Mehmet,
with modesty he was the harbour master
And how pleased he was to receive foreign visitors on such a
winter day
For no ships returned now from the sea, which no one but he,
could service faster
His friendliness was so infectious, we didn't quite know what
to say

He said there would no greater
pleasure than to show us the theatre at our leisure
"Come quickly, before the last light is gone! In the winter the
days don't hold long!"
That isthmus was so close to the sea that water lapped at the
wheels, though I was careful with measure
Nervously I hoped we would not be stuck out here, and nothing
would go wrong

Mehmet made an encouraging
gesture as we rounded the bend
Revealing the most perfect small amphitheatre that ever had
fallen under my eyes
And asked me if I minded and could be so kind as my camera to
lend
I did, he insisted on a romantic photo, as remembrance in the
days long gone by

As the gloom began to gather, he
was urgent to return, to be faster than the sea
Worrying the isthmus would become an island, and having to
forge the tide
"Hurry now" he cautioned, "it's a poor road and lies not in the
lee!"
Back to the harbour we arrived splashing through the lapping
waves, just a short ride

With a smile and welcoming
gesture, he insisted to come in his house for a glass of
tea
To warm ourselves from the fire of his make-shift oven and
offer him company
"Forgive me", he said haltingly, "I am stay here alone - just
my ten cats and me"
But why not I thought - today is Christmas - why not a bit of
tea and some sympathy?

In perfect politeness to
foreigners, he offered us dented scratched cans of luke-warm
beer
And we smiled kindly and said we much more preferred the
precious tea of the
Turks
Then he smiled like one does when you meet people you like, as
he pulled a table near
His cats came to greet us with mewing and purrs, and he
prepared dark teas with the works

"I have no biscuits" he
apologized, "but instead, I have Mandarins freshly
picked"
While one of his cats stood on the table and sniffed
suspiciously at my tea
Which looked the colour of a toasted ruby in my glass, I
thought as I absently nicked
And mused at the harbour master being a gracious host on the
count of me

Quickly a basket of the most
fragrant small oranges I ever sensed before us he set
Gave us an offering gesture yet said not but a single word
more
I could see there was genuine kindness reflected when our eyes
met
Then he lowered them in quiet humility as he looked at the
floor

His
harbour
hut was shabby; loneliness echoed from the walls with a bored
yawnHis
only companions his ten motley chequered-coloured
catsWhere
he spent night after night vigilant from dusk until
dawnWith
a shabby collection of old magazines, posters and a odd number of
hats

But on this quiet Christmas we
peeled Mandarins with the harbour master
As the sweetest of juice imaginable squirted on our tongues and
teeth
And we praised the man who serviced incoming ships better and
faster
That he was also a top-rated tour-guide down
underneath

He smiled at the praise with a
real happiness and offered us more tea
And his voice faltered, his words mumbling, stumbling as he
asked
If we mind giving him a bank note - to feed the cats you
see
Caring for so many scroungy night hunters was an enormous
task

And I laughed pulled out the
biggest bank note I had in my purse
"For the best Mandarins, the best tea and of course for the
cats!"
(While my other was biting his tongue to suppress his
curse)
"Hopefully, they can dine on hamburger now instead of
rats!"

The harbour master's eyes widened
and nearly filled with a tear
But gallantly he composed himself and smiled with cheer
Wordlessly moved, he simply pushed towards me the Mandarins
near
"Of course you do agree with me, don't you my
dear?"

The other looked at the harbour
master then back at me
Then quietly nodded as he took another Mandarin to peel
And he laughed lightly as he was beginning to see
What the harbour master could not express, but only
feel

After a while we drove away into
the star-dotted night
While I remembered the taste of the Mandarins and the strong
tea
The harbour master continued to wave until we long out of
sightAnd I marvelled how Christian Mehmet the non-Christian
could be